


Eighty Six

by cleo4u2



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Don't copy to another site, Dorks in Love, Gen or Pre-Slash, Kissing, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 09:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2
Summary: Appearing on his wrist at fifteen, Jakes soulmark has haunted him more than the ghosts of his parents. Most people get something unique as the first words their soulmate ever says to them because most people say something unique upon meeting a new person. A person who could potentially be their soulmate. For instance, Jess, Jake’s twin sister, wares the words, “Hey gorgeous, do you know how to tango?”Jake just has, “Hey.”The joy of hearing the word had worn off after the tenth time someone had said those three letters to him. After a whopping eighty five, he’s fit to strangle someone. And then eighty six shows up.





	Eighty Six

**Author's Note:**

> No beta. All mistakes are my own.

“Fuck you, you monosyllabic mother fucker!” Jake shouts.

It isn’t the new guy’s fault that he’s so angry. Honestly, it takes a lot to get Jake to lose his temper. It’s just that it’s been a hard week. A very hard week. The op hadn’t just gone to shit this time, it had exploded in a how-to for Ockham's Razor. 

They’d been dropped into the middle of nowhere and Pooch had been shot within thirty minutes, Jake had been kidnapped, and their sniper had been killed. Clay had then taken his time as Jake was being tortured to rally, rescue Jake, and reduced their number by one more. Only a miracle (and Jake’s skill with a laptop) had gotten them out of there, but that’s not where their hell week ended. 

Both Jake and Clay had gotten a thorough, verbal reaming from Pooch’s spit-fire soulmate, Jolene. Jake had dropped his beloved, personal laptop - a customized beauty - and shattered the screen as well as damaged the graphics card and processor. So instead of enjoying his downtime, he was trying to repair Lucile, which wasn’t such a bad thing since his personal potential soulmate count had gone from seventy five to eighty five in three days.

If there was one thing that never failed to crack Jake’s normally sunny demeanor it was any reminder of his shitty, pointless soulmark. Appearing on his wrist at fifteen, it had haunted him more than the ghosts of his parents. Most people got something unique as the first words their soulmate ever said to them because most people said something _unique_ upon meeting a new person. A person who could potentially be their soulmate. For instance, Jess, Jake’s twin sister, wore the words, “Hey gorgeous, do you know how to tango?”

Jake just had, “Hey.”

The joy of hearing the word had worn off after the tenth time someone had said those three letters to him. After a whopping eighty five, he was fit to strangle someone. And then eighty six showed up.

Three people did not make a team, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise for Jake to come home to find a stranger - a pretty, sexy stranger - sitting at their kitchen table. Sooner or later (apparently sooner) the brass would find replacements for the good men that had died not seven days previous. They were just pieces of a grand machine, a machine that couldn’t stop rolling forward.

So Jake wasn’t in the best of moods to begin with upon seeing the mustachioed cowboy. Then Clay said, “Jake, this is Carlos, our new sniper,” and Carlos said, “Hey.”

“Fuck you, you monosyllabic mother fucker!” Jake shouts, slamming his laptop down on the table. 

The new guy has good reflexes; he’s skidded his chair away and hopped to his feet, ka-bar in hand. He doesn’t look poised to strike, though, just really damn confused. Jake is too angry to feel bad.

“Corporal,” Clay says. It’s both a command, a question, and a warning all rolled into one. 

Whirling on Clay, Jake shouts, “Eighty six, Clay! Eighty-fucking-six!”

“Eighty six, what?” Carlos asks. He’s staring at Jake with those dark brown eyes and Jake wants to punch him because he’s so damn pretty. Why can’t his soulmate be someone who looks like _that_?

The words burst from Jake without his consent, “How many, huh? How many times am I gonna hear ‘Hey’ and then nothing? A hundred? Two? There’s only so much a man can take, Clay; not that you understand. No one’s said -”

“Corporal,” Clay growls, all warning now.

Jake is too far gone to heed the warning and shouts back, “Eighty six!” 

The small movement of Carlos placing himself between Clay and Jake gets them both to calm. Jake’s stomach twists with disappointment because it’s _Jake_ Carlos is protective of. Jake, who is having a nervous breakdown in the goddamn kitchen. Taking a deep breath, Jake tries to get ahold of himself. Takes another and feels like the itching beneath his skin is fading.

Then the front door bursts open and someone shouts, “Hey fuckfaces, your Captain is here!” and Jake lets out a wordless cry of fury because _those_ are the words on Clay’s wrist.

Clay lets out a half-hearted, “Jake,” as he slams past him toward his bedroom, but doesn’t make a motion to actually stop him. Why would he when he’s just met his soulmate? Jake can’t even be mad about it, not really. He’s _jealous_. He wants that. He wants that single moment where he meets a stranger, they speak, and he _knows_. 

Except he won’t get it. Not ever. Maybe next time, “Hey,” will come from the one, but that will still be number eighty seven. 

“Hey,” he mumbles to himself, “Hey, go fuck yourself, more like.”

A voice clears and Jake turns to see Carlos in his doorway. Jake sighs, but gestured Carlos inside. The room is half his even if he probably regrets sharing it with a crazy person.

Carlos drops his duffle and rifle pack by his bed, then turns and offers Jake… his lap top. 

“Thanks,” Jake sighs again, “I’d just fixed it.” As he takes the laptop, he admits, “I… don’t remember your name.”

A flick of a smirk, there and gone.

“Carlos. Carlos Alvarez.”

Jake snorts, dropping onto the bed and shoving his laptop safely beneath his pillows. He doesn’t have the energy right now to figure out if it’s broken again.

“You don’t look like a Carlos,” his mouth says.

“No?” 

Jake shivers. Carlos’ accent is thick, traveling through Jake’s ears, through every nerve of his body, and ending at his dick. Life is not fair.

“What do I look like?”

Carlos is ignoring the room, his things, his eyes locked onto Jake like he’s the most interesting thing in the room. It’s a laser focus that reminds Jake of predators stalking prey.

“I dunno.” Jake shoves a hand through his hair and says the first thing that comes to mind. “A cougar; all sleek, and dangerous, and sexy.”

Carlos laughs, his eyes crinkling up beautifully.

“Cougar. I like it.”

“I, uh, like your face.” Jake slaps his face into his palm. “Ugh, sorry.”

Another soft chuckle and a hand gently tugs his away from his face. As he’s really not used to being touched so freely, Jake looks up to find Carlos has rolled his left sleeve up to his elbow. In scratchy handwriting - Jake’s handwriting - is “Fuck you, you monosyllabic mother fucker!” and Jake nearly swallows his tongue.

Reaching out a trembling finger, he touches the words and murmurs, “Eighty six.”

“It is a good number,” Carlos rumbles in his low voice, sliding his hand under Jake’s jaw and tipping his head up. Jake can hardly believe it. He found his soulmate. “But I think I am still sorry.” A thumb brushes along his lower lip. “It has been hard on you.”

A near hysterical giggle bubbles from Jake’s lips.

“It’s been a hard week.”

Carlos leans down and brushes a kiss across Jake’s lips. He does it again, leaving them tingling and his fingers wrapped around Carlos’ forearms, teleported into position as he doesn’t remember moving them. A third kiss and this time Carlos’ teeth nip and tug at his bottom lip before they pull back.

The smile Carlos gives him makes Jake’s stomach do flips.

“Then we will make better.”

Jake is nodding dumbly, declaring, “Much better,” as Carlos leans back in for another kiss. Then another, and another. Eighty six of them, Jake counts, before he moves on to other, better things to do with his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and visit me on... places...
> 
> Tumblr: [cleo4u2](http://cleo4u2.tumblr.com)  
> Pillowfort: [Cleo4u2](https://www.pillowfort.io/Cleo4u2)  
> Twitter: [Cleo4u2](https://twitter.com/Cleo4u2)  
> 


End file.
